The private doctor's office on the top floor of the hospital was quiet. Dim lights illuminated the shelves of old medical books and the neat glass-topped wooden desk. In a black leather chair, Dr. Vincent Pembroke sat, gazing out the large window overlooking the hospital garden. A light rain still fell, leaving trails on the glass—calm, but cold.

His neat hands held a cup of Earl Grey tea, sipping slowly, the hiss of the steam the only sound audible. He stared at the patient chart on the small monitor on the desk, checking the next appointment, but his mind remained focused—every second counted, every move potentially life-changing.

"Hmm...I think I should eat something," he muttered softly as his stomach rumbled.